Most people translate Itadakimasu as “Let’s eat.”
But for the Japanese, this phrase isn’t about permission or appetite — it’s a silent act of acknowledgment.

Itadakimasu belongs to a family of expressions rooted in everyday spirituality — much like Otsukaresama (acknowledging one’s effort) or Okagesama (recognizing unseen help).
These words are less about communication and more about relation — about recognizing the invisible web that sustains us.

To say Itadakimasu is to remember that your hunger depends on others’ work — and others’ death.

• The word itadaku appeared in Heian-period court diaries such as Makura no Sōshi and Genji Monogatari, meaning “to receive from above” — both literally and socially.
  It implied humility toward a superior or benefactor.

  By the Edo period, as Buddhist vegetarianism and Shinto animism intertwined, itadaku expanded in meaning: it came to include all beings that sustain human life.
  Thus, Itadakimasu evolved from a phrase of social hierarchy to one of cosmic hierarchy — directed toward nature itself.

  The hierarchy shifted — from human to nature, from power to life.

Buddhist texts such as the Shōbōgenzō Zuimonki remind monks to “eat with awareness of the life you take.”
In Japan, this awareness survived not in temples alone, but in kitchens and homes.

Fish, rice, and vegetables — all are once-living beings.
Saying Itadakimasu acknowledges this silent tragedy without guilt.
Unlike in the West, where religion often divides life and death, Japanese thought accepts their continuity:
death feeds life, and life eventually feeds death.

In Japan, death is not the end of life — it is the condition for life.

• After the Meiji Restoration, Japan underwent rapid modernization and Westernization.
  Buddhism lost state support, and daily rituals risked disappearing.
  Yet Itadakimasu persisted — stripped of overt religion, yet still sacred in tone.

  Sociologist Shūzō Kuki described this as keishiki no shūkyō — “religion of form.”
  Even when belief fades, the form of faith remains — embedded in gestures, timing, and etiquette.
  Saying Itadakimasu became an unconscious act of moral memory: a way to keep gratitude alive without theology.

  Even without gods, the gesture of gratitude survived.